Storm

By , Chicago, IL
Shut the window, the rain is coming
Filth is not purged, it is spread.
Disgust floods my vision,
the horizon,
the sky
Look at your hands. 
Whose blood is caked in your nails, the red blossoming as it spreads across your dirt-encrusted skin?
This isn't my reality, it's  yours.
This isn't your hand, it's the hand of God.
You spit on your salvation.
Rain cannot help you now.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback